


From The Hips

by buttrileskissed



Category: Degrassi
Genre: AU - Fuckbuddies, Angst, Fluff, M/M, Smut, if that isn't enough to tell you that there's gonna be smut then i can't help you, triles
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-30
Updated: 2015-03-30
Packaged: 2018-03-20 07:52:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,324
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3642516
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/buttrileskissed/pseuds/buttrileskissed
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Miles is a fashion designer and Tristan is a sexy bartender/actor and they both just need a fuckbuddy. Nothing more. Nothing less.</p>
            </blockquote>





	From The Hips

He strolls through the doors of the bar while running his hand through his gelled hair, and automatically he feels out of place. The last time he actually had a drink was his senior year of high school, after an exhausting prom night of dancing and screaming and _oh, whatever it is that kids do on prom night…_ he feels the bass thumping under his skin and a wave of exhaustion nearly takes him over as he sits down.

Nevermind how out of place he _feels,_ currently he’s dressed in formal attire, cufflinks and all. His manager had asked him to a sudden _“importantly urgent, like get here within 15 minutes or lose the job”_ meeting with his newest client, and apparently, he had to dress to impress for whatever reason (he really never understood that type of thing) and already the pressure was on. It was a three-hour meeting, and now all that was buzzing around in his head was the fact that he only had two weeks to spit out an entire line of costumes, and honestly, this was worse than any episode of Project Runway he’d ever seen. This actually felt like hell, and he’s enduring it for whatever reason. He huffs before looking up at the bartender who is currently attempting to look like he’s engaged in conversation with someone.

Across the bar, his smile makes him look as pure as a child, but there was a sort of wicked look in his eyes that screamed sin, and already, the brunette’s shoulders are tensing shyly. He purses his lips as he sits up to get a better view (and not make it seem like he’s staring at his ass) and oh _god._ He’s always had a thing for men who constantly look like they have sex hair, but this man was taking his idea of attractive to another level. The front pieces of his raven-colored hair look like they’ve strayed from the attempt at a neat hairstyle, taking on a natural wave, falling the slightest bit over his forehead. His eyes are electric, burning blue with hints of green and grey, gleaming in a mischievous way that would warn most away, but intrigued him in the worst of ways. His jawline perfectly etched, completed with the perfect pout of crimson-colored, full lips. It’s taking all of Miles’s self control not to pounce over the bar and bring those lips the sweetest torture, but if he had a couple of drinks--

“Rough day?” A slightly deep voice snaps him right from his thoughts. He looks up again from the bartender’s lips to his eyes, shaking his head.

"Yeah, and I'd really rather forget about it. What’s the hardest shit you have?”

“Well, the “hardest shit I have” varies from person to person. How hard can you take it? for all I know you could be a lightweight and get hammered off of one beer.”

Miles stifles a laugh, “Trust me, I can hold more than you think.”

The raven-haired man ducked under the bar with one eyebrow cocked as he pulled a bottle of amber-colored liquid and a short glass from one of the shelves, placing it on top. He poured a small bit before pushing it across the bar to Miles, trying not to laugh before he could react.

He downed the shot in one go, pursing his lips and shaking his head at the taste. “Ah, what the hell is that?!” He still felt the burn in the back of his throat, before it pooled comfortably in his stomach. The bartender was giggling now, and his laughter sounded more like a challenge than mocking. It riled him up just enough to willingly ask for more. “Another shot?”

His giggle fit ended nearly abruptly as he looked over to the smirking brunette who was holding his glass next to the bottle. He tried not to look too shocked as he poured, never breaking eye contact as he filled the glass to the brim.

“I’ve seen people get hammered off of one shot of this. You’re not one to back down from a challenge, are you?”

He downed the glass as if it was water, patiently waiting for the supposed *magical* buzz to set in. “Not a chance.”

Three glasses later, and there’s also not a chance he’d going to remember much after this point. He stands up, cruising confidently to the dance floor, and okay, this already seems like a stupid idea, but he can feel the buzz setting in slowly, and depending on the liquid confidence, he sways his body to the beat. Tristan actually had to steady himself on the edge of the bar, keeping his eyes glued to the brunette who was moving with more skill than he imagined. He hadn’t noticed how entranced he was until a woman plopped down in the seat in front of him, holding up two bills between her fingers.

“Ah, yeah…” He attempted peeking over her, but the stool was much too high. He gave up in the matter of about 30 seconds. Shooting his best fake smile, he turned back to her. “Sorry about that, what would you like?”

* * *

 

Miles didn’t come back to the bar for three days. It’s not that he didn’t want to seem desperate, or anything like that, even though he didn’t exactly wish for the bartender to think he was desperate, but he had work to do. Like starting on sketches, thinking out designs, funny that the costume theme is masquerade, since masquerades are mysteries, and this bartender guy is such a question mark that he doesn’t even know his name.

Taking a deep breath, he walks smoothly through the doors, much like a flame with a burning confidence he didn’t even knew he had. He definitely dressed to impress--his idea of impress, not his manager’s--with his hair stylishly messy, a navy blue, tight-fitting top and black skinny jeans that made his ass look great, with a leather jacket to top it off. His eyes shined with the lights around, gleaming a curious green as he found the stool closest to Tristan and sat down.

“Since you seem to be the expert of people getting hammered quickly, how many shots would it take of tequila and vodka to get me drunk?”

He refused to admit that when he heard Miles’s voice, he actually got pretty excited.

“Three, tops.”

“Hmm…” He hummed, taking off his jacket and hanging it on the back of the stool, and _no,_ Tristan’s eyes did not automatically shift to Miles’s abs and he did _not_ start thinking about how he could make such a simple shirt look so good. “Sounds like a challenge.” 

Tristan picked a skull-shaped bottle from the top shelf, unscrewing the cap. “Willing to rise to it?” He already knew the answer before he could even start filling the glass.

“Actually, no.”

Baffled by his response, Tristan set the bottle down slowly.

“Let’s play a game instead.”

Tristan crossed his arms, running his tongue across his lips. “Not my job to entertain customers.”

“No, but they’re doing a pretty good job at entertaining you.” He rose an eyebrow to that, unsure how to respond exactly.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” As if he didn’t already know. Miles’s silence was enough to tell him that he wasn’t taking that as an answer.

“I get off in two hours. But it’s a giant maybe, considering the fact that I have to get home…”

Miles smiled at his small victory of getting Tristan to soften, even just a small bit. “Alright, well when you change, or make up, your mind, you know where to find me.” He whispered the last part, slipping his jacket back on and moving into the crowd of dancers, being sure to stay in Tristan’s view, who was taking in the sweet pleasure of watching him on the dance floor until another customer swooped in.

**Author's Note:**

> After this point is where the smut starts lmao. I tried to make the sexual tension painfully obvious... go me.


End file.
